Mon Amour
by RagingRedStar
Summary: When Shaun relives an uncomfortable memory in the animus as his ancestor, Jeannot, he comes out acting like his French ancestor rather than himself. Desmond ends up caught in the middle - with Shaun kissing him. Whump, Angst and Slash. Reviews are love.


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**I've always read the Bleeding Effect Desmond-centric fics and thought how fun it would be to do one reversed – with Shaun losing his mind a bit. This is what I ended up writing. You can never have too much angst! Reviews are love.**

**Set before the end of Brotherhood, probably.**

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Desmond switches the screen off with a grim frown, this was none of his business to watch. He was grateful that Rebecca and Lucy were out and that they wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of the current memory sequence Shaun was reliving.

Desmond wasn't judging, and he didn't think it was funny either. He, firsthand, had experienced the sensation of reliving an ancestors more... saucy, encounters, and knew that Shaun would probably not want someone watching on the other end.

Sitting on the stool adjacent to Shaun, his eyes flit over to the immobile historian's face as he twitched.

Desmond raised an eyebrow as he watched Shaun grit his teeth and give a hiss of pain as if trying to jolt himself away from an unseen assailant. Desmond watched with growing worry as Shaun tried again to pull his head free of the Animus interface with an uncomfortable groan, his glasses slipping down a notch onto the ridge of his nose.

Desmond noted with dull sympathy that this was probably Shaun's first experience at reliving a romantic memory –

– and probably was not having a pleasant time, considering that Jeannot was gay.

Jeannot D'absolon – Shaun's French ancestor from the eleventh century. Desmond was still reeling over the fact that Shaun Hastings – Shaun _Hastings_ – had an ancestor who had been a central role in the Battle of Hastings. He still dwelt on the strange coincidence of it all, that Shaun, not realizing his Assassin ancestry, had still found his way into the Assassins. That Shaun Hastings had in a past life, fought in the Battle of Hastings.

It would be Jeannot D'absolon's keenly fired arrow that would strike Harold Godwinson in the eye, and change the history of Europe.

Lucy was now toying with the idea that he had helped shaped the world, too. There were some loose ends to be tied, some that she thought might have some correlation with the Apple of Eden, with the Templars and maybe even Those Who Came Before.

So Desmond found himself competing for his time in the animus as Lucy gave Shaun full access to it – who greedily took as much as time as he could get, savouring the rich reservoir of old world knowledge around him.

And here he lay, reliving a sexual encounter with a twenty-something year old male courier. Desmond had switched off the animus display before things got too intimate – after all, he was not amused to discover Rebecca had seen his _interactions_ with Leonardo in his time as Ezio – but Desmond still remained with a vigilant eye to make sure Shaun would fare okay. He would probably be quite shaken, when he exited, and Desmond would be ready. With a cup of tea, perhaps.

Shaun gave a gasp of pure pain then that set off a few warning alarms in Desmond's head. The animus gave a few cautious beeps – Shaun was losing his synchronisation slightly, fighting off the memory – a sometimes dangerous event.

Desmond bit his lip, unsure whether to unplug Shaun mid-memory, which could be even worse. "_Give him a chance to ride it out_" Desmond thought to himself, then mentally chuckled at his use of words despite the grimness of the situation.

The British man's fingertips were twitching now, clawing at the seamless gilded panels of the animus as though he could pull himself free.

"_Non..." _Shaun murmured. "_Non... Je ne veux pas-" _He cut himself off with a groan.

Desmond slowly stood – Shaun was speaking French. This was bad, he knew, again firsthand, that this was a sign of the bleeding effect. Shaun's mind was under barrage, he needed to be out of the animus.

Desmond cautiously stepped to start the disengaging process when Shaun gave a lurch that shook the entire console and its connected monitors. Desmond jumped, turning back to him with startled eyes, and watched as his back arched up in a frantic motion and his lips tore out a strangled gasp. The animus sang out a chorus of alarming klaxon and beeps and Desmond tore his eyes away with a heavy heart and began pressing the necessary keys and buttons.

"_Come on, come on... get him out!"_ His mind exclaimed in panic.

And then Shaun was seizing, his muscles beginning a terrifying spasm that sent his body rife with heavy tremors. His head jolted, eyes still jammed shut in pain, his lips bursting forth nonsensical phrases in both English and French. Desmond tried to work as fast as possible, but it felt as though as lifetime had passes before the green letters rose up for him on the display.

"_Subject successfully disengaged._"

Desmond gave an exhale, quickly pondering whether he had taken a breath through the whole ordeal. He turned to see Shaun go deathly still on the white animus bed, his head lolling listlessly to one side, his eyes half open.

"Oh god." Desmond said aloud. He pulled the visor away from Shaun and grabbed the man's pale face, carefully turning it to face him, cradling it from both sides as though to focus the Brit on reality once more.

"Shaun? Shaun!" He exclaimed, shaking him a little. The half-closed brown eyes of Shaun Hastings stared straight though him, his body limply falling back in place after Desmond ceased his shaking. Desmond felt his heart rate quicken. "_Oh god no, what if I killed him?"_

But he was still breathing. That was a sign, a good sign, even. "Please Shaun..." Desmond began pleading, gently releasing his face and checking his pulse with one hand.

_Erratic. Oh shit. _He stared at the limp hand as though blaming it, though internally hating himself. "_Should've pulled him out earlier... What if I destroyed his consciousness, what if-"_

"-Bonjour là, beau." A faint voice cuts Desmond's raving mind off and he freezes, still.

Slowly his lets himself turn to stare at Shaun. His eyes are focused again, he's conscious. But Desmond finds himself now panicking at the French tumbling out of the mouth that should be spitting abuse at him in a very staunch, _British _accent.

"_And doesn't 'beau' mean beautiful?"_

"No." Desmond says to Shaun, trying to make himself clear, concise and calm. "Shaun, you're speaking French again. _Focus,_ can you speak to me in English? Shaun?"

Desmond feels worry flutter up in him again. Shaun is looking at him in a way he's never see Shaun look at him before. He lies there, Desmond holding his wrist still, his eyes still half-closed but more contented and at peace. The way he's looking at him, it's without contempt, for starters, and with an added emotion – something more akin to appreciation... or...

Shaun sits up, and where Desmond had been gripping Shaun's wrist, suddenly Shaun has his. He pulls Desmond's hand towards his own chest and he feels his fingertips placed on the warmth of the sweater, feels himself being pulled in towards Shaun before he can fully register what's happening.

"_Fermer votre bouche, mon amour._" Shaun nearly purrs. Desmond registers the rolling 'r's and feels dim surprise in the heat of the moment – when Shaun had his murmurs of French phrases from tomes and dictionaries in the months before, he merely blurted them out phonetically. Now his accent rolled and lulled with the perfect tone and pace of the French language, and that scared him, even more than how close he was now to Shaun's face. Before Desmond could fully process that Shaun had just called him "_mon amour_" – a phrase, though Desmond had never learned French, he still fully understood – Shaun tugged him in so their faces were near touching and began kissing him.

In a mimic of the way the animus had sang a few minutes earlier, Desmond's own mind flew into alarm bells and klaxon as well.

"_Shit."_

He struggled back like a fish on a hook, writhing out of the kiss with panic. Shaun looked at him, more amused than anything else, his eyes searching his face with hooded eyelids.

"No! Shaun – you're not yourself right now, come on – you're acting like Jeannot!" He bleated helplessly, but Shaun wouldn't let go of his wrist. He made no effort to wrestle Desmond back towards him, but still did not release the bartender.

"You're _Shaun._" Desmond implored, his eyes wide and scared. "Wake up, I don't –"

Shaun lowered his head ever so slightly, watching him as though he were approaching a frightened animal. Desmond felt the taste of Shaun linger on his lips for a moment, and gave another panted gasp of panic. "_I just kissed Shaun, Jesus Christ..."_

"_Je vous veux._" Shaun says plainly now, swinging his legs over the side of the animus and leaning in towards Desmond. His mind is reeling now, he is almost frozen – he has no idea what to do and Shaun _won't_ _let go of him._

Shaun is leaning into him now, one arm precariously sliding past Desmond's chest and to the other side of him so the historian has some balance as he slides in closer. Desmond makes a slight effort to lean back, to pull away, still murmuring and pleading with Shaun.

"Shaun, no..." Desmond is whispering, struggling to speak now. And hating himself, he feels his will to protest leaving him. The taste on his lips is Shaun, he breathes him in and out and his essence fills him and _he wants it._ And Shaun can sense it, smirking in satisfaction as their lips meet again.

Desmond sits for a few seconds, his eyes wide open as Shaun closes his – the man's arms sliding under Desmond's shirt as he moves to lean on top of him.

_This feels so good, Jesus... _

"_-No!"_ his mind mentally reels in hatred for himself, his own physical betrayal. "_This isn't Shaun. This isn't Shaun."_

"No!" Desmond gives a hard push and Shaun lurches back, stumbling until he finds his balance in a near-crouch. Desmond is panting like he's run a race, his chest tight and aching.

_Stop wanting it, damnit. Stop. This isn't him – I'd just be taking advantage of him when he's vulnerable – how would I ever explain it to him? To Lucy and Rebecca? Shaun would kill me before I got to try anyway._

"_Mais vous voulez ceci, je peux le voir."_ Shaun is saying back to him quietly, calm, but the smirk lost on his face in place of a gentle confusion. He takes a step forward but Desmond goes to stand, making his stance as affronted as possible.

"Please, stay away..." He breathes.

But the crazy bastard takes another careful step, with the same approach like Desmond is a scared animal. Shaun's deep brown eyes imploring him, his glasses slightly askew – the crop of stubble tracing his jaw. Desmond's breath hitches, and his body betrays him again and wills him to take another step.

Shaun does, his eyes locked on Desmond's, searching for a sign of foreboding or a reproachful yell. But he doesn't find it.

Another step.

And another.

Desmond can smell him again and his defences are lowering despite his rational thoughts exclaiming warnings at him.

"Why won't you just give up..." Desmond murmurs, still looking at Shaun, but defeated.

Shaun sidles up to him and gingerly grabs both the bartender's slightly trembling hands, raises both to chest-level, and kisses both of them, slowly and deliberately as his lips part on the knuckles and still smirking. Desmond's been dreaming about this intimacy from Shaun for months now, knowing he would never get it from the cold and distant man – but now...

Desmond goes in for the kiss, he feels Shaun's smirk widen to a full grin and he returns it – passionately and vigorously – dropping Desmond's hands and instead finding the nape of the young man's neck and tracing his sternum with unconstrained lust.

Desmond loses time, they kiss like that for an eternity, Shaun fighting for dominance over him as he suddenly rushes him back a few paces into a bare wall. Desmond hits it a little harder then expected and gives a panted gasp of slightly shock – Shaun gives it away fervently, giving quiet murmurs of "_Je suis __désolée__..._"

Shaun's fingers a wrap in the fabric of Desmond's shirt, wringing it tightly and then releasing him to explore the skin underneath. Desmond feels the fingertips brushing over him and Shaun's mouth near-attacking his face with animalistic intensity. Shaun clings to him like a drowning man and Desmond revels in it.

And then as quickly as it started, the moment stops.

Desmond is vaguely aware that Shaun's kissing has stopped – slowly he realises the man has gone completely still. Desmond manages to flutter open his eyes in true bewilderment and slide his arms off the historian's waist as Shaun stumbles back, both hands presses against his temples, knuckles white.

"Shaun –" Desmond offers breathlessly, half concern, half pained that he has stopped.

Shaun gives a small groan, his eyes screwed shut. Then, after a long moment, he opens them. His eyes slowly meandering around the room as though lost, finally they fix on Desmond.

"D...Desmond? Oh – Oh god, no..." He stammers. "Did I? No – _Oh god, oh god, no._" Desmond steps towards him, one arm out to help him.

"No!" Shaun shouts, stumbling back.

A door creaks open behind them, and Lucy enters holding a dozen-pack of toilet rolls under one arm and a six-pack of ginger beer gripped in the fingers of the other.

Both Shaun and Desmond stare at her, and she returns a puzzled glance.

"What's going on?" She implores, setting down the groceries. "Are you two oka –"

"We're fine." Desmond answers quickly, his rational mind settling back in seamlessly. "Shaun just experienced a vivid memory, that's all – he's a little shaken up. I was just going to make him some tea –"

"– I can do that" Rebecca interjects as she enters with her own plastic bag filled with groceries. "Just give me a few minutes."

"Sure." Desmond says plainly. After a second of shared glances, they two girls enter the kitchen area. Desmond risks a glance back at Shaun, who is still staring at him, mortified.

"I'm so sorry." Shaun is still stuttering "I... I forgot who... I couldn't even remember –"

Desmond nods repeatedly through all of Shaun's shaken apology. "It's okay, Shaun, really..." Desmond mentally thanks a higher power that Shaun can't remember Desmond kissing him back, but lets the thought subside in place of pure sympathy for the man before him, looking as scared as a doormouse.

"I have to go." Shaun stammers, and before Desmond can protest, he hurries away and into the corridors.

::

Six hours later, Lucy confronts him.

"Desmond." She nearly growls at him as he lies, nursing a faint headache on the leather sofa.

"...Lucy?" He replies, unsure.

She folds her arms with a sigh. "Look, I know whatever occurred when we were gone probably feels – awkward, for you. But really, there's a bigger picture."

Desmond's heart skipped several beats.

"It didn't occur to you to tell me that Shaun reacted to a memory like that – that the Jeannot side of him took over."

She raised an eyebrow. "It didn't occur to you that we have a dozen cameras set up in this place."

Desmond clears his throat. "Shaun looked destroyed – I couldn't make him face that. I mean, can you imagine –"

"– Shaun completely lost his rational mind and had his personality engulfed by his ancestor's personality and you didn't think to tell me or Rebecca. I know this must be embarrassing for Shaun but there's bigger things at stake."

Desmond swallowed again. "I – I'm sorry. I haven't really had anything like this happen before."

Lucy sighs in defeat. "It's okay. Look, I've had Rebecca... talk... to Shaun. I'd like you to maybe, you know... go clear the air. We don't need this hanging over our heads."

Desmond would like to retort that this was always going to be hanging over their heads no matter how much group discussion they employed, but he bit his tongue, nodded, and stalked away to find the shaken historian.

::

He finds him sitting on a wooden crate in the near-empty back room. Its blue-grey walls dusty and accompanied by a few cobwebs, Shaun sits with his head in his hands. Desmond gives a knock as he enters.

"Oh god." Shaun mutters darkly.

Desmond pauses, but continues into the room unfazed.

"Look..."

"Please, _don't_." Shaun retorts abruptly. "Just don't."

"I have to." Desmond replies.

A small silence intervenes. Desmond draws another crate closer to him and sits down beside Shaun, albeit slightly apart from him to give the man some space. The Brit still does not raise his head, rather he shakes it from side to side a little with disdain.

"You should stop beating yourself up over it – we're all worried about you, no one is judging you. It's going to be fine."

"It's _not_ fine." Shaun spits back angrily, finally turning his head away from the floor to peer at Desmond with contempt through his fingers. "I lost my _fucking mind_ and savagely _snogged_ my male co-worker. It's not fine – it's as far from fine as you can fucking get. In fact it's gone past, fine, come back round and done another _fucking_ lap."

It was out in the open now, Shaun was reminding himself dully. He couldn't pin it all of Jeannot, he mused sadly. Rebecca already had her suspicions that he might be have felt that way towards the opposite sex – something he had always flat out denied, in his pride. On top of that, Desmond and he would always have an awkward air between them now – irreparable, no chance of having a normal co-worker relationship or even a friendship now, ever.

Desmond remains quiet for a second. "It's a... well, an _unpleasant_ thing to happen, I know – but it isn't your fault. You shouldn't dwell on it."

"Fuck off and leave Desmond." Shaun mutters. _"I need my space right now, you stupid berk, can't you see that?"_ Shaun's frustration twists and turns back around in fierce anger, he spits out words he doesn't really mean.

Desmond feels his chest ache a little. After recent events, somehow it hurts just that little bit more to hear Shaun be so ruthless with his insults and disregard to Desmond's feelings. Desmond feels his anger uncoil and snake up to protect his pride.

"I came here trying to help, you _asshole_._"_

"_I love him – care about him, and he doesn't see it. Treats me like shit."_

"Yeah? Well come back when you can fucking undo what's happened, until then, you're not fucking helping so just sod _off_." Shaun feels the faint tang of regret as his insults tumble out but he's too hollow now to stop himself.

Desmond stands up abruptly. "You're a jerk, you know that? You know what – _it is your fault_. If you didn't have such a ridiculous _boner_ over ancient tomes and texts, maybe you'd actually fucking _listen_ to Lucy when she tells you you're going in the animus too much!"

Shaun is standing now too, his nostrils flaring with anger and his eyes bright and alight with rage.

"How fucking dare _you_ mention _me_ having a fixation on the animus? I've _seen_ you in there, gawking at women who've been dead for centuries like a horny schoolboy!"

"Yeah? Well at least I have the common sense to know when I've been in there long enough and take a _fucking break_ so I don't end up trying to sexually assault my co-workers, you _dick!_"

"You –" Shaun's word catch in his throat and part his lips as a strangled gasp. Desmond instantaneously forgets their argument as Shaun's pupils roll up into the back of his head, leaving only his whites – then his form crumples and hits the floor with a sickening thud.

Desmond is on his knees, panic snaking into him where anger had once resided. The world is crashing – _Shaun is crashing. He's not moving._

"_Shaun!_"

His body is still for only a few seconds, and then with a horrible jerk that spans his entire body, Shaun begins yet another seizure – and Desmond can't help but register it's twice as violent.

His eyelids half open in a terrible macabre-like version of a face – white eyes and white skin – Shaun's throat struggles for air as his shoulders tense and spasm over and over, sending his body jerking like it was being electrocuted. Desmond's hands slide under his head, shielding his bouncing skull away from the concrete and into his protection.

He kneels there in unrelenting agony, his arms wrapped over the historian's head like a clumsy shield, his heart willing it to stop. _Have mercy, please just stop. God, stop this – no more_. _How long as he been seizing like this – two minutes, three? Just stop... please..._

And then Desmond gets his wish. Shaun stops, his body goes limp, slacking in his arms. He gives one shuddering exhale and then his body goes stone still, his white eyes slide closed mercifully.

::

Rebecca enters the bedroom with a cold bottle of ginger ale in each hand. Shaun lies still as stone on the left hand side of the sprawling double bed, and Desmond sits on a small wooden chair next to him, not tearing his eyes away from his immobile form.

"Here." She mutters as she passes Desmond one bottle, he nods at an attempt of thanks, but has no energy to speak now. Only guilt and regret as his eyes watch Shaun's chest barely move as he breathes.

"How long has he been out, now..." Desmond asks, emotionless.

"About six hours. Lucy thinks he should wake up soon though, he's just catching up on some rest."

There's a long pause in which Desmond rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers in anxiousness. Rebecca watches him, concerned.

"I yelled at him, Bec." Desmond says as dry whisper. "Look what I've done."

Rebecca takes a sip of her ginger ale and looks up at the roof with a sigh. "Stop beating yourself up, Des. We all know he hasn't been sleeping lately – jamming himself in the animus when we've told him he's been in there too much. Should've really come down hard on him when he started muttering French curses in the kitchen." She muses.

Desmond is silent and Rebecca frowns at him.

"What were you two arguing about anyway?"

"Lucy told me to try clear the air... I went in there with good intentions – tried to tell him everything was going to be okay, that this wasn't his fault. And he just... threw it all back in my face. I let myself get mad... called him a jerk, an ass hole... I..." Desmond trails off, shaking his head. "I stressed him too far and now he's like this."

"He's going to be alright. He just needs to take it easy for once instead of being of uptight." She gives a snort of laughter. "He's only so worried because now we all know he's got it for guys instead of ladies."

"What?"

Rebecca gives him a patronising look. "You two are so hopeless. I've seen you both eyefucking each other for two months, it's a joke."

Desmond felt his blood chill like ice. "What're you –"

"– Don't play dumb. Lucy got me to watch the security tapes a few hours ago after Shaun's fit. You didn't put up that much of a struggle, Des. In fact at one point you're the one who started the kissing."

Desmond was lost for words. "Rebecca, I –"

"– Look. Shaun really likes you. I've known him for years and I'm _telling _you he does, I can see it. And not taking into consideration the eyefucking on both you and Shaun's behalf – it's obvious you like him too. So what's the problem?" She takes another sip of her ginger ale with the composure as though they were speaking about the weather.

"... I do, I mean... I care for him, a lot. But he doesn't_ like me _– he calls me a _twat_ or a _wanker_... I mean..."

Rebecca sighs. "You've got to understand Shaun's a bit of a social retard – he gets snarky and angry with people to try and conceal what he's really feeling. Look, either you tell him how you feel or I'm going to – and show him the tape. I can see you guys have both got it bad for each other and watching neither of you take the first step is just torture, on everyone's behalf. Just think about it."

Desmond looks at Shaun's slack face with worry as Rebecca leaves the room.

::

The smell of faint rosemary creeps into his nostrils. He inhales pleasantly, the sounds of spring soon greeting his ears as well. The hum of distant birds far off and away as he lay in his cloudy, fogged word between awake and a sleep.

Something pulls him towards the awake world.

A voice, he notes, taking another breath of rosemary air coming from outside the window. He is aware of his body then, his limbs heavy, groggy, but pleasantly warm and secure in the midst of thin blankets. He gives a murmur as he stirs.

"Shaun..."

He cracks open his heavy eyelids – the soft blurred world slowly sharpens and from his right side he sees Desmond Miles.

He gives another contented murmur and lets himself drawl out a word. "Yeah..."

From beside his bed, Desmond gives a low sigh of relief. "How do you feel?"

"Warm." Shaun notes quietly. Logic, the ability to perform coherent and comprehensive strings of thought slowly seeps back into him – the contented feeling of peace ebbs away.

"How did I get here?" He asks.

Desmond gave yet another sigh. "You don't remember? Maybe you should try..."

Shaun let himself mull over all his thoughts, extracting memories and thoughts from the jumbled mess his mind now sat in. Slowly he put them into chronological order, in a fashion that made some sense. _Yelling... I remember yelling..._

"We had a row."

Desmond takes a second to adjust to the British slang and understands Shaun means "argument."

"Yeah, yeah we did. You collapsed, Shaun, and had a seizure. A severe one."

There's a long pause then. Outside the ornate-framed window, a bird calls out into the skies and the wind blows faintly and stirs at the cream curtains. Shaun watches them in a stunned daze.

"Oh..." Shaun swallows dryly. "How long have I been out, then?"

"About fourteen hours..." Desmond watches him intently. "...Do you feel, alright?"

"Yes, just... adjusting to the shock of finding out I had a seizure." He says quietly. "May I ask why?"

"Lucy rang up someone, I think they were a doctor. Assassin, though. They think that all that time in the animus might put some strain on brain functions – especially when stressed, like when –" Desmond paused, rolling the words around on his tongue. Shaun didn't look away from the dancing curtains.

"– Do you remember... what happened yesterday, in the animus?"

Desmond sadly watched Shaun's blank face contort slightly with strained thought, then work itself slowly but surely, changing into that of shame and horror. He was sure he could see the colour seeping away.

"...Oh. Yes, I do now... Guess I'd forgotten. Imagine that." Shaun says dryly.

Shaun gave a frown of genuine sadness, and Desmond knew Rebecca was right.

Desmond tentatively reaches onto the soft quilts of the bed and gently takes Shaun's hand. He watches the dull shock pass over Shaun's face as he stares at his taken hand and then back up to the bartender's face.

"_Now or never._" Desmond's brain reminds him.

Desmond offers him a small smile. "Lucy says you should get some rest. Stop stressing yourself. Take some time away from the animus and just _relax_."

And daringly, he took Shaun's hand in an imitation of the day before and kissed it gently.

Shaun felt the beginnings of a smile flutter over his face, a creeping hope and relief flooding into him.

"You bastard." He whispered "I thought you were straight"

Desmond shrugged with a wry smile of his own relief. "A little from column A and a little from column B, I guess." He placed Shaun's hand back onto the bed with a smile. "If you'd have let me speak to you properly before, I would've gotten to the fact that I had been intensely kissing you back, as well – you just couldn't remember it."

Shaun felt the cogs of his mind turn a little, and found that in the midst of the jarred and broken recount of yesterday's afternoon – Desmond _had_ been kissing him back.

"Seeing you... have a seizure like that." Desmond interrupted his thoughts, his voice darkening slightly. "I thought you might _die_, Shaun. And..."

His face softened. "There's too many things left unsaid – too many things I want to say to you. I realised, if I never acted upon what I feel for you – I could never forgive myself." He left out Rebecca's involvement for now, feeling it was best to simply revel in this moment.

Shaun looked at him plainly. "You can tell me all about that later, but right now I really need you to kiss me. This time so I can remember it."

Desmond gave the first full smile he had done in a long, long time. Outside, in one of the world's finest clich_é_s, a songbird started to sing out over the landscape. Desmond leaned in over the lying figure on Shaun Hastings and kissed him long and hard, and Shaun Hastings kissed Desmond Miles back.

They could both feel the smile on each other's faces as they did.

"I'm sorry for yelling." Shaun murmurs gently, mid-kiss.

"Me too."

::


End file.
